Since Kindergarten
by thegoldhat
Summary: Gabriella Montez has a charming and undeniably gorgeous Troy Bolton for a best friend. If every clichéd plot holds true, sometime down the road, they're supposed to realize their true feelings for each other and fall in love, right? Troyella
1. Unexpected News

**Disclaimer: I don't own _High School Musical_.**

**Summary: Gabriella Montez has a charming and undeniably gorgeous Troy Bolton for a best friend. If every clichéd plot holds true, sometime down the road, they're supposed to realize their true feelings for each other and fall in love, right? **

---

Five minutes until the bell rings and the little devils are allowed to enter my class, wreaking havoc upon the brightly decorated kindergarten room.

Drumming my fingers on the wooden teacher's desk in front of me, I sigh glumly. I press my palms to my face while letting out a groan. I'm starving, I'm tired and I smell like puke.

There's this student of mine, Daniel Leinad, that keeps throwing up every day. He could have been sick, but he simply upchucks his lunch and then bounces around the room like nothing is wrong. Today, when I sensed I was about to see what Daniel ate for lunch, I decided to grab him and haul the kid to the nearest garbage can, determined not to have to break out the mop for the fourth time that week. I didn't make it in time and the kid, for some reason, spins around and vomits all over me ("Miss Montez, I didn't want to get it on the floor!"). Big surprise. I was never the track star in high school.

Using my trusty detective skills, I came to the conclusion that the little boy was allergic to something. It didn't take much effort, really. He always brought a cheese sandwich for lunch (which I know because there's little pieces of cheese and bread crumbs littering the floor around his desk every day), and he'd always throw up after lunch. And when I asked him about it, he said 'Milk makes me puke too'. Obviously the boy's lactose intolerant. Parents don't pay much attention to their kid's lives these days. I've sent multiple notes home about his issue but, surprisingly, nothing has been done about it.

My whole lunch break consisted of me rubbing the puke stain off of my unfortunate shirt while I could hear the kids gleefully playing outside. The mark eventually disappeared. I couldn't say the same for the smell, however.

Not wanting a repeat of today's events, I grab a piece of paper and start to write:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Leinad,_

_Daniel unquestionably has a problem. He vomits. All the time. And for some reason you aren't doing anything about it even after all those notes I sent. I am expressing my concern again because today, your gremlin of a child decides to fucking puke all over my very expensive, brand-spanking-new shirt. I now have to smell like shit for the rest of the day all thanks to your son._

_PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT._

_-Gabriella Montez_

Rolling the sheet into a ball, I chuck it into the garbage can, and scribble a more parent-friendly, not-going-to-get-me-fired version of the previous note:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Leinad,_

_Your son, Daniel, has been vomiting frequently over these past few days. I'm uncertain if you've received my notes, but I'd appreciate it if the problem was addressed. You might want to check for allergies. I have a suspicion that he might be allergic to dairy products._

_-Gabriella Montez_

I'd like to tell them personally, but their son goes straight to a daycare following school where he stays for three hours. And for some reason, his phone is always busy. I never meet his parents which makes me required to write notes then pray that they are received.

Before I know it, five minutes have passed and the kindergartners come rushing in through the door. A split second later, a bunch of wails catch my attention. The door is wide enough for two five year-olds to enter at a time, but six? Not so much. But the children have yet to learn that concept, so several of them are now nursing their mildly injured heads.

"Oh no, oh no! It's bleeding. I'm bleeding! Help! _Help_! Call 9-1-1!" A little blond girl cries. She's the drama queen of the class. I dubbed her 'Sharpay Evans Junior' after my best friend (who also can be a bit dramatic) on the first day of school when she introduced herself as '_Princess_ Catherine' and proceeded to tell me how she thought the whole world revolved around her — to put it shortly.

She points to the spot that's supposed to be bleeding. I examine it carefully before informing her of the lack of red substance visible. "Sweetie, it's not bleeding. You're fine. It was just a little bump."

The rest of the kids involved in the collision have now moved on with their lives and are calmly playing with various toys scattered around the room.

"But it _hurts_, Miss Montez." Catherine whines.

"Would you like a band-aid?" This always shuts them up.

"Yes, please." She smiles sweetly. We stroll to my desk, and I open a drawer.

"Do you want a Dora the Explorer, Spongebob or..." I dig my hand deeper in the pile of junk I have stashed in there and pull out a worn out box. "Or a Princess band-aid?"

I'm sure she's forgotten any thoughts about her injury being life-threatening as she taps a tiny finger against her chubby chin, pondering her decision.

"Princess."

Like she was going to choose anything else.

I tear open the wrapper. She points to the opposite side of her head that she was gripping in pain earlier. After the pink band-aid decorated with tiaras and flamboyant princess gowns is placed on her head, she skips contentedly across the room to play in the sand box with some other kindergartners.

I let them play for a bit longer before I call for them to sit down at their respective desks and open their workbooks to do some simple math questions. I assign pages with addition and subtraction questions using numbers no bigger than 9. That should keep them occupied for a bit. They should be able to understand it all by now. I vivdly remember yesterday's mathematics lesson. It took a shitload of patience and one big jar of candy for a visual aid, but I got it through their thick skulls that one plus one is indeed two. Not eleven or 'window'.

I shuffle around some papers on my desk, pretending to be occupied with something. If there's one thing I've learned from my six years of teaching, it's that younger kids won't work if they see you slacking off. They'll complain because they don't know after they go home, _you_ have all their stuff to mark and you also have to plan lessons for the ungrateful students.

My stomach grumbles. I can't wait to go home.

I'm starving, I'm tired and I smell like puke. Not to mention bored as hell.

I glance around, hoping for a distraction from all my previously listed problems. The door was left open and I hear some teachers gossiping about another colleague's love life as they pass my classroom. I, Gabriella Montez, have no love life. I've been single for 99.9% of my entire existence. No joke. Sure, I've been on a few dates but I've never gone steady with anyone except for Anthony Lawler in seventh grade — glasses, sweater vests and all (that lasted for 0.1% of my life).

My cellphone rings. Some of the kids' heads perk up. I apologize to them and quickly answer it after seeing the caller ID. My students love me, they wouldn't tattle, right?

"Troy! You know I'm teaching right now!" I hiss.

"Sorry!" Comes his reply. He sounds so adorably excited. "I have such amazing news that I forgot. I'll tell you about it later, okay?"

Forget? You don't just forget your best friend's career that she's been complaining about for years (Not that I don't like teaching; It's just one gets tired working with kids ages 12 and under for six years. I'm still waiting for a high school position to open up). Must be really important news.

"Alright, bye." I hear his muffled 'Goodbye!' as I detach the phone from my ear and hang up.

I've never gone steady with anyone because anyone who's asked has never been Troy Bolton.

We're best friends. And if every clichéd plot holds true, sometime down the road, we`re supposed to realize our true feelings for each other and fall in love, right?

Well, I have. Fourteen years ago. But Troy's always been a bit slow in the head.

I can still recall the first time I met him, that fateful day in kindergarten...

I owed it all to my older cousins.

In my situation, the pronoun 'it' in the above-mentioned sentence happens to have replaced the noun 'buzz cut'. Yes, on my first day of kindergarten, I walked, proudly, into an inviting classroom full of judgemental eyes sporting a less-than-half-an-inch-thick head of brown hair.

Somehow, when I was napping, my bored cousins chose to stick ten wads of gum in my curls. And they weren't considerate enough to attach it to the ends so I could easily snip it off either. No, they jam the sticky, cotton-candy-pink material deep in my hair, almost at the roots, with their pudgy fingers while leaving me to sob for hours. My sympathetic, yet amused, mother took me to a hair salon for professionals to work their magic, assuring me everything would be fine.

I never trusted my mother after that. Inevitably, everything was not fine.

They shaved off all my hair as I sat bawling, wailing "Mommy, I hate my hair!" and refusing to look at the mirror in front of me.

I was avoided by every kid in the class. The girls would stay away since they thought I was a boy and sounded like a girl. And as soon as the boys got close enough to realize I was a girl, they scampered off, wondering why their eyes had deceived them. Being four, the kids had never been exposed to this type of weirdness before. They labeled me as a freak of nature.

Except Troy.

Maybe he was dropped a few times as a baby, but he approached me one day, asking if he could play in the mini-kitchen with me. My haircut was irrelevant to him. All that mattered was that I was holding the plastic frying pan and he wanted to make imaginary eggs.

Instant friendship.

Our first meeting pretty much went along the lines of this:

"I'm Troy."

"Gabriella."

"I like your hair."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My uncle has a hair cut just like yours. He's huge and he has big muscles and he has lots of tattoos _and_ he's a pro-wrestler."

"Cool."

"I know ...Erm, can I touch it?"

"What?"

"Your hair."

"...Sure?"

"It feels soft and fuzzy."

"Really? Oh wow it does! That's so cool. I _love_ my hair!"

"I know. When I get home, I'm going to ask my parents to cut my hair just like yours!"

"Great! Hey, want to be best friends?"

"Sure, but only if I can use that frying pan you're holding."

It wasn't one of our most exciting conversations, but definitely a memorable one.

The first time I started crushing on him was a while after that. One day in our freshman year, Troy, our friends and I were gathered at a table in our cafeteria. Troy and I had come late, sitting down next to Chad and Sharpay respectively. We had to stay after class and clean up our science project gone wrong — erupting volcanoes aren't as hard as they look. They're harder. So that caused us to have to wolf down our lunch in order to finish on time for our next class. Troy was a growing boy with a bigger mouth so of course he ate faster. We've always been competitive. I couldn't _not_ continue eating so slow.

Well guess what happens when you bite off more than you can chew?

You choke.

And I did.

My fingers curled around my throat as I tried to clear my airway. At first, Troy leisurely patted me on the back, saying something about me not even having a chance at beating him. His nonchatantness turned into panic when no sound escaped from my purple-tinted lips. He immediately wrapped his arms around my waist and started the Heimlich maneuver. A couple seconds pass, and just barely before I'm about to go unconscious, the huge carrot chunk that almost killed me goes flying into Chad's afro. I looked at my saviour and muttered a thanks, feeling sparks as his hand brushed against mine when he let me go.

I think I've always felt something for him, but that was the first time I allowed myself to admit it.

Even though I've been afraid of losing the friendship we've built over the years, I've asked him out it before. Although, he _may_ not have replied. And his back _may_ have been turned towards me. And I _may_ have squeaked it out so quietly that the sound waves I created might not have even reached his ears. And at one point in our senior year, I lost my good judgement during a party and attempted to seduce him, following Sharpay`s advice. I _may_ _or may not_ have mistaken another guy for him while under the influence of alcohol. You can't really blame me. Lots of guys have brown hair.

But he'll come around, right? Because if every clichéd plot holds true, sometime down the road, we're _supposed_ to realize our true feelings for each other and fall in love, right?

I mean, come on. We've been friends for twenty-four years. The road has got to end sooner or later.

---

I ring the doorbell and wait silently outside Troy's door. We kind of have a ritual on Fridays that wasn't anything more interesting than ordering takeout and watching a movie. It had all started after my horrific first week of teaching when I came to his apartment in tears, screaming at him for letting me take the job in the first place. Without notice, I came the next week too, but to my surprise (and delight) he was ready for me, movie rented and all. He had sheepishly confessed he was hoping I'd come.

Troy opens the door. Now the first impression you might get from Troy is that he's perfect. He's got brilliant blue eyes and really great hair. Plus, he works out pretty much all the time so he's got this amazing body. He's so friendly and lovable that sometimes, you can't help but feel jealous. Now if you've been friends with him for twenty-four years, you start to notice little things that stray from perfection like his obliviousness and his unhealthy plaid obsession, but those things can be easily overlooked.

"Gabriella!" He exclaims. He gives me a bear hug which after my long day at work, I'm grateful for.

"Hey Troy! So what's this great announcement you have to make?" I ask, stepping inside.

"Well, you know how I never date?"

"Yes..." I can almost hear him saying _'It's because I've been waiting for the right time to ask you out', _being all cheesy and romantic like the movies I pick out when it's my turn to choose_._

"Well," He pauses. I think he's trying to be dramatic. All the more reason to love him. "I have a date!"

My heart is pounding and blood rushes up to my head. I'm just about ready to scream 'I'd love to go out with you!'

But he interrupts. "Her name's Tracy! We met at work and I don't know. I simply asked her and she said yes right away. Can you believe it? I'm taking her to Ortega's _tonight _at eight."

I'm speechless. My mouth is gaping, kind of like the fat class goldfish that the kids keep overfeeding.

Okay, so Troy has decided to take a little detour off the road. I can redirect him back.

I struggle to come up with something to say. Fourteen years of opportunity and I let it pass. This is karma for not telling Sharpay it was me who spilled cranberry juice all over her white gucci bag, isn't it?

"Gabriella?" He's confused about the absence of my joy for him. "Are you okay?"

"I—I'm ...fine. Actually, I'm kind of feeling a bit dizzy." Concern flickers over Troy's azure eyes. "Can you get me a drink of water?"

He rushes down the hallway and I hear the tap running before he bounds over to me again, holding a cup which I clasp with my shaking fingers. It takes a moment and a few sips of the cold liquid before I'm thinking straight again.

He pipes up, taking the cup back when I'm done. "So, Gabriella. Could you help me out? I have absolutely no idea what to wear — "

His answer is me slamming the door in his face and rushing down the street.

**---**

**Author's note: It's going to be a short story. Maybe two or three chapters in length. Review, please? :)**


	2. Not As Planned

---

Last chapter:

_"Well," He pauses. I think he's trying to be dramatic. All the more reason to love him. "I have a date! Her name's Tracy! We met at work and I don't know. I simply asked her and she said yes right away. Can you believe it? I'm taking her to Ortega's tonight at eight."_

_I'm speechless. My mouth is gaping, kind of like the fat class goldfish that the kids keep overfeeding._

_"So, Gabriella. Could you help me out? I have absolutely no idea what to wear — "_

_His answer is me slamming the door in his face and rushing down the street._

---

My cellphone has been ringing every fifteen minutes since my abrupt departure. I haven't got the courage to answer it yet. I've been too embarrassed. I mean, how am I supposed to say 'Hey Troy, the reason I ditched you was because I'm madly in love with you and I wouldn't be able to help you get all dressed up for some other woman'.

I feel like I'm a depressed, world-hating teenager again that thinks the world is coming to an apocalyptic end since they can't get a date with their crush.

So to sooth my woefulness, I'm watching my all-time favourite movie: The Sound of Music while curled up on an old couch in a house I pay half the rent for. Also, between my hands sits a freezer-burned carton of chocolate fudge ice cream littered with chocolate Oreo chunks, chocolate sprinkles and drowned in a thick, chocolate sauce. Taylor, one of my best friends I've been living with, never touches the stuff (we've had this for years; it's even acquired a cardboardish aftertaste). I can see why. While Troy's probably on his way to being the most sought-after bachelor in the world, I'll just eat my frozen desert, contributing to the growing population of obese people. And then I'll have to buy two airplane seats instead of one to fit my gigantic, watermelon-like body.

With a shakey voice, I sing along to the movie as best I can, blubbering, "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when your best friend leaves you... I simply eat all my cardboard ice-cream and then I don't feel so bad."

Wow, my vocals have really gone downhill since high school when I starred in that musical with...

'Oh calm down Gabriella,' I tell myself. Do not think of him. Do _not_ think I of him. You're just going to burst into tears. I repeat—

"So, Gabriella, have you confessed your true feelings for Troy yet?" Taylor unlocks the door, walks in the room and asks the same question I've been hearing for fourteen years.

Salty liquid flows out of my eyes and I can't stop them. For half my life I've been dwelling on something that's never going to happen.

"No," I whimper. "Not even close."

"Oh Gabriella. What happened?" Taylor asks. She eyes the ice cream I'm clutching warily.

"Troy has a date!"

She sighs. "Judging by your appearance, I'm guessing it's not with you."

I shake my head dejectedly. "He's going to this fancy Italian restaurant with someone named _Tracy_."

She smiles, "Don't worry. Tracy could be a fat couch-potato for all we know."

I sniffle. "Yeah. Maybe. But he looked so happy when he was telling me about it. I bet she's gorgeous. And rich—not some lame kindergarten teacher." The tears are falling harder now and my make-up smudges when wipe my face with the back of my hand.

My cell phone rings again during my sob-fest, and I hurriedly try to get my voice to sound normal again because I don't want Troy to stop being my friend even though we'll never be anything more.

"Gabi? Why'd you leave so quickly?" Troy blurts immediately after I press the 'talk' button.

"Sorry about that... Er, I forgot I left the stove on so I had to rush out in case the house caught on fire or something." I explain.

"Oh, okay." There's no skepticism in his voice. That's probably because he remembers the story I told him about how I tried to make pancakes for my parents on their anniversary. But instead of being greeted with a drool-inducing breakfast in bed that morning, they were woken up by the shrill sound of a fire alarm.

"Troy? I'll call you back another time. I'm busy; I actually have plans tonight too! I got to go, but good luck on your date!" I say the last sentence with mock sincerity before ending the call.

"_'Good luck on your date'_, Gabriella? That's not what you tell the love of your life!" Taylor scolds me after eavesdropping.

"Tay!" My eyes widen. "I don't love—well, he doesn't love me back."

"Both of your obliviousnesses are driving everyone up the wall. If what you guys have isn't love than someone needs to rewrite it's definition!"

In a defeated tone, I reply, "It doesn't matter anymore. We've had twenty-four years. If something hasn't happened by now, it's not meant to be. Troy getting a date must be a sign." Another huge chunk of cardboard-flavoured ice cream enters my mouth. Believe me when I say I'm not a pretty sight. No wonder Troy doesn't want me.

"Hey, if you want something you've got to work for it. Did you sit around and go, 'I want to be a teacher, but if no one hires me, then I'm doomed to live on the streets for the rest of my life'? No. You went to university—"

"That might be true, but there's no point in doing anything now. He's already on his over to meet her." Rudely, I cut her off and some of my frozen dessert trickles down the sides of my mouth because I haven't quite swallowed my last bite yet. Since I feel like shit, I might as well look like it too.

"You've still got time, Gabriella. No one gets married after their first date. You've just got to convince Troy you're the one for him." The words roll off Taylor's tongue like she's the worlds best relationship expert.

"How?" I retort. God, I sound just as incredulous as the kids I teach.

'How do you read?' (The students always expect a one-word answer form this one.)

'How does mixing red and blue make purple?' (Kids call it magic.)

'How am I _not_ a princess?' (Courtesy of Catherine.)

'How do you expect me to be able to aim all my pee into that small bowl?' (Usually followed by 'Why can't _you_ just clean it up?')

Taylor responds, "Well, for starters, one of your four-year-old students could tell you you've got to do something to stop that date."

I'm about to object that they probably couldn't, but my non-existent, romantic relationship with Troy is counting on me getting my ass down to _Ortega's_ asap.

"You're right, Taylor!" I call as I scamper towards the door, the container of the mucky brown dessert flying out of my hands, narrowly missing Taylor's head. I almost do a face-plant on the floor as my housemate grabs my shoulders and hauls me back. She whips out a paper towel and begins scrubbing my ice cream and make-up stains vigorously.

"You weren't planning on wooing Troy looking like some hobo, were you?"

---

It's 8:30 when I get off the subway and climb up the stairs to search for Ortega's. I don't even know why Troy's going there. He hates overpriced food and I know his favorite is Mexican.

I get the familiar feeling of butterflies bashing their heads against the walls of my stomach. I take in a deep breath of air. I don't think my chocolate treat from before will look as good the second time around.

Locating the restaurant, I open the door. The place is pretty nice. They've got huge mirrors on the wall to give the illusion that the place is bigger than it really is and potted plants are scattered in various places. For a Friday night, the number of guests is pretty low. There are about ten free tables. I'm greeted by a friendly waitress who asks me if I've got company coming, but I tell her I'm eating alone.

My desire to be sick increases as I recognize Troy (in his signature plaid shirt) and get a good look at the person sharing a table with him. My jaw almost reaches my quivering knees. Tracy isn't a fat coach potato—she's an I-can't-believe-someone-so-pretty-is-even-in-the-same-room-as-me model.

"Um, excuse me. Could you sit me over there?" I gesture to an empty table next to Troy and his date's.

The staff member blinks at me. "But miss, that seats eight."

Duh, lady. I can tell from the eight chairs positioned around the wide, circular piece of furniture.

"I know, but I... I eat a lot. I need the extra room for all my dishes." I pat my flat stomach while giving her a kind smile.

She raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. We're required to sit you somewhere that maximizes the number of unoccupied spaces. Friday nights are busy."

Pfft. Oh sure they are. You have eyes. Look around. Do you see hoards of people fighting for seats at this restaurant? Didn't think so.

"Oh please please please let me sit there. I'll pay extra!" This tactic, called begging, was something I picked up from my kindergarteners.

To our surprise, a couple gets up from the table on the other side of Troy's and exits the building, having finishing their meal and already paying the bill.

"Can I sit there?" I ask, beaming at her.

"Yes. I'll just get someone to clean it up for you." The waitress seems relieved at not having to deal with another difficult customer.

I can't stop smiling. This is fate finally assisting me in my time of need!

Prancing over to my table, my foot gets caught on someones chair, but yet another face-plant was avoided as I was able to steady myself. However, my clumsiness managed to divert Troy's attention from his date to me.

"Gabriella? What are you doing here?" I think I can detect a hint of fear in his voice for some reason as I take a couple of steps forward so I'm standing at the edge of their table, between them.

"Oh just for... you know, dinner." I reply.

He's about to impose something else, but changes his mind and introduces me to the gorgeous woman siting across from him. "Gabriella, this is Tracy. Tracy, this is Gabriella."

"Pleased to meet you, Tracy. I'm Troy's best friend. We've been _best friends_ since—" I'm about to explain our whole friendship from start to... well, wherever we are now before Troy cuts me off.

He turns his back to me and says to his date, "Yes, we're friends. So, what were we talking about again, Trace?"

I don't even hear her reply or pay much attention to Troy's unusually hostile behaviour. I'm too busy staring at what she's eating. Or rather, what she's not eating. The poor, probably ravenous woman has a simple, untouched Italian salad in front of her while Troy is inches away from a plate half full of delicious ravioli.

"Miss, would you like to sit down?" A waiter questions me.

"Oh yes. Of course." I respond. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to drag Troy away from Miss I-eat-less-than-a-starving-child-in-Africa yet, but fate's not done helping me out, right?

I'm not a very fast thinker, but Tracy's annoying giggle has certainly got the wheels in my brain turning faster than they have in years. In a few short seconds, I've worked out a plan.

**---**

You know when you have something all mapped out in your head and you think it's going to go all perfectly just like you've imagined? If you do, well you must know the part where everything goes horribly wrong.

Like that time I took Troy to the movies after he just recovered from the stomach flu. I thought I'd be nice and let him pick what we'd see and of course he chooses 'Electric Chainsaw XIX', the movie that's composed mostly of guts spewing out everywhere (which, of course, I didn't know at the time). And during the big climactic moment, there was just so much blood and gore for my stomach to handle so I ended up wretching inside of Troy's jumbo size bag of popcorn I was holding for him. The smell of my vomit plus the graphic images on the big screen caused a similar reaction from the other movie watchers, and the room was evacuated because the stench was too overwhelming. We never did see the end of that movie, or at least, I never did.

So here I am, thinking that I could just casually bump into the waiter carrying the four drinks and it'd spill on Tracy's perfectly straightened hair. Then she'd be so distraught that she'd run out crying and Troy would realize what an ugly witch he was dating. I envisioned him running straight into my arms—Or something along those lines. All I needed was for Tracy to leave the picture.

That wasn't happening.

I knock over the waiter, by accident, in the wrong direction which causes him to tip over the chair of this other customer. The poor, balding man then crashes into one of the decorative plants in the restaurant that trips yet another unsuspecting waiter who grabs on to the closest thing he can find to keep from landing on the floor. Well, the nearest thing happens to be Tracy and the flailing employee gets a good grip on the back of her dress. It's not enough to keep him from falling and he goes down, tearing that item of clothing in the process.

The whole restaurant is silent for what seems to be like months before Tracy lets out a wail of mortification. She lunges for two empty plates with both of her boney hands and tries to cover herself up as best she can.

The first person I look to is Troy. He is absolutely livid, and I'm sure he's seen everything.

The room breaks out in commotion. It's mostly apologies that are going around, but a few people are trying to place the blame on others for this mess. Troy has taken off his jacket and wrapped it around his flustered, tomato-red date, trying to calm her down.

I squeak my own apology but it gets lost in a sea of everyone else's so I sprint out the door, heading towards the subway.

---

I can see the steps leading underground, to the subway station and try to scurry over there as fast as I can.

"Gabriella!" Troy calls out after me. I'm caught between escaping, attempting to protect my life, or hearing my best friend out.

After all I've done to him tonight, I choose the latter.

He runs up to me until he's about ten feet away. A bit farther than we usually stand, but I'm going to decide not to dwell on little details like that. His plaid shirt has a meat sauce stain on it. Well, actually, a bunch of stains are visible on the multicoloured fabric. I'm guessing Tracy can really pull of the enraged victim of a date-gone-bad well, pelting Troy with whatever miscellaneous food items she can get her hands on. Ha, I'll bet that's the most amount of food she's ever touched in one night.

"Troy, I'm so sorry. I never knew that was going to happen." I tell him.

"I don't believe you." He retorts, grimacing.

I shout back, "What? Why not? You can't prove anything."

"Well, I... I was watching you."

I'm confused. Did he really have to look out for me because he knew I'd mess everything up?

"Don't lie to me, Gabriella."

"I didn't know. Honestly." I gulp. Er, I wasn't lying; the waiter ripping Tracy's dress wasn't part of the plan.

"You didn't have to come to the restaurant."

What! He can't tell me what I can and can not do! "_You_ didn't have to go out on a date today. We always spend our Friday evenings together. And you cancelled at the last minute."

"I'm twenty-eight years old for fuck's sake! I _want_ to have a life and not remain single for the rest of it. We aren't kids or teenagers anymore. Having movie nights every week is so immature."

"You haven't said anything about it before!" He's really frustrated with me now, but I'm really appalled at his opinion of the only time we really spend together. We do hang out during the week sometimes, but on Friday nights, it's just us.

Troy sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair before he realizes there's some slimy Alfredo sauce in it. He glares at his hand for a moment, looking perturbed. He's totally blaming me for this, I know it even though _I_ wasn't the one who actually threw pasta at him.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I kind of did ruin your date accidentally on purpose." I admit, not being able to handle the guilt anymore.

"Did you not like Tracy that much?"

"No... she was fine. And really pretty" I shrug my shoulders.

"Then why did you do it?" He inquires.

A phone starts to ring and I realize it's his. I'm completely ignored as he whips out the chiming object then flips it open, pressing it to his ear and muttering something I can't quite make out.

"Because I... I love you, Troy. But not in like 'a best friend' sort of way," I mumble when he's done his conversation, just loud enough so he can hear. "I thought I was going to lose you."

He's motionless. His gaze isn't quite focused on me even though I've just told him a fourteen year old secret.

I start to shuffle backwards, advancing towards the stairs in preparation to leave: an effort to postpone my rejection.

"Gabriella!"

"What?" Is this the part in our 'happily ever after' story where he finally tells me he loves me too? I'm too caught up in my fantasy that I don't stop backing up.

All of a sudden, I've reached the start of the staircase, and my my left foot that's in a black, five inch heel shoe slips.

I come crashing to the ground, the force of gravity making me roll down the uneven terrain. Unable to halt my descend, I land with a dull thud on each of the cold steps while a deep voice is frantically screaming my name.

My head collides with a hard surface before my heavy eyelids close, and everything disappears into the darkness.

---

**Er, review and get a quicker update?**

**Just one more chapter and an epilogue (maybe) to go!**


	3. Head Lice

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews. Hope everyone had a happy and safe New Years!**

**---**

Last Chapter:

_A phone starts to ring and I realize it's his. I'm completely ignored as he whips out the chiming object then flips it open, pressing it to his ear and muttering something I can't quite make out._

_"Because I... I love you, Troy. But not in like 'a best friend' sort of way," I mumble when he's done his conversation, just loud enough so he can hear. "I thought I was going to lose you."_

_He's motionless. His gaze isn't quite focused on me even though I've just told him a fourteen year old secret._

_I start to shuffle backwards, advancing towards the stairs in preparation to leave: an effort to postpone my rejection. All of a sudden, I've reached the start of the staircase, and my my left foot that's in a black, five inch heel shoe slips. My head collides with a hard surface before my heavy eyelids close, and everything disappears into the darkness._

---

With a groan, I try to lift my head. I squint my eyes to make the room seem a bit clearer so I can figure out where the hell I am.

"Gabriella?"

I twist my head to the side and find Troy's overwrought face.

That's when I notice my surroundings. I'm in a hospital room with a bandage around my aching head and a hard cast on my left arm. Troy's on a chair next to my bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, leaning towards me so that I can see the dark shadows under his blue eyes.

"Troy?"

He blurts out, "I'm sorry, I've already promised Tracy another date to make up for yesterday's. It was her that called..."

What? Oh right. I'm reminded of the catastrophe I created before my little spill.

Wait, yesterday? He stayed with me the whole night after my big confession and now he's telling me he's going out again?

"Oh, okay." I croak, "Have fun. And I promise I won't show up to turn it into a hurricane disaster area this time." I manage a weak smile, trying to sound genuinely sincere.

Wow, I haven't felt this awkward since that last CPR course I had to take with all the other teachers at the school. Lucky me was paired up with the over-weight janitor and I couldn't even get my arms around him when we did a fake scenario where he was supposed to be a choking elementary school kid. He wasn't a very convincing actor. I should know; I've been one before.

"The doctors say you have to take it easy for a while." He changes the subject, sounding like an over-protective brother. "You have a concussion and your elbow's broken."

"Well, we both knew my lack of coordination would bite me in the ass some day."

Wryly, he smiles, totally agreeing with me. "So about what you said last night..."

"Please tell me you've forgotten about that."

"It's you who had the risk of being an amnesiac, falling down those stairs, not me."

"Well, I didn't mean it—I mean I _did_. I still, er, love you. Not in the 'best friend' sort of way, but like in a ...'best friend _forever_' sort of way because, uh, we've been friends for like more than twenty years. And twenty years is so long it's basically forever. Get it? Sorry again about the dinner fiasco." For good measure, I add, "We don't even have to do movie nights anymore because we're mature adults."

Troy looks a bit disappointed for a moment. "Okay... And it's fine. I have another date, remember?"

Jeez, thanks for reminding me and making me feel worse than I already do.

"When is it?"

"In a couple days. We're just going out for lunch this time."

Giggling, I say, "I do know that you're purposely omitting any specific details so I won't crash your date."

He smirks himself. "Always as smart as ever, Montez."

"So we'll never bring last night up again, right Troy? I'm already humiliated enough."

"You know, I think Tracy gets to take the prize for Most Embarrassed. You can come in second though."

"Hey! I wasn't the one with a meat-sauce face mask."

"Before throwing any insults my way, just remember that it was your fault my favorite shirt got stained." His pager beeps, stunning both of us. "Sorry, Gabriella, I have to go. And uh, you should call Taylor. She was really worried, but I'd make the call quick if I were you because the nurses are all Darbus-like clones who treat cell phones like they're a threat to national security." He grins a bit at the reference he's made to our old high school teacher then walks out the door.

**---**

So I'm back, doing my job, after a couple days off that I took. Maybe I'm still a bit mopey about my unreturned feelings, but if it's one thing my kids are good at, it's cheering me up. Sure they might be a bit too dramatic or stubborns sometimes, but they're always so darn cute doing anything.

Except for this morning. The bald kindergartners are being dropped off one by one. Yep, that's right. Bald.

One of the mothers have seemed to notice my shock so she sweetly explains, "You're one lucky woman, Miss Montez. There was a head lice epidemic while you were gone and even the supply teacher was infected. The kids are still very young so the parents have opted for head-shaving rather than using insecticides." She gives one last pitying glance at the children then waddles off.

Normally, I'd be laughing my head off right about now, but thanks to Friday I'm struggling to hold back tears. Kindergartners. _Bald_ Kindergartners. _I _was a bald kindergartner once, and that was how I met Troy. I think about my students and how closely they resemble me twenty-four years ago. I'm seriously about to warn them to not get their hopes up of meeting their own soul-mate today because in the future, they're just going to get their little hearts broken.

"Miss Montez! What is that thing eating your arm?!" Catherine screeches, horrified as she enters the classroom.

Her father behind her chuckles, "It's just a cast, princess."

Another kids pipes up, "Are you okay? My uncle broke his leg once and got a cast too."

Then some more comments are thrown around.

"Hey, my older brother broke something once and he was so grumpy he wouldn't stop saying bad swear words!"

"And after my uncle got his cast off, everyone kept pointing out one leg was more hairy than the other."

"Miss Montez, is it really broken? Remember that story you told us when you faked being sick, and didn't come to school because you had a bad ...what was it called? An overhang or a—"

Simply because there are still parents in the room, I interrupt the speaking child. "Alright kids, I thought we'd do some art this morning! Please sit at your assigned tables and we'll start."

The students are all here, and the parents say their final good-byes before leaving.

With one hand, I heave out the markers, crayons and paint bottles, evenly dividing them amongst everyone. But I really shouldn't have to worry too much. It's not like they're going to start fighting over who has how many markers and start flinging paint again. Okay, so maybe they will, but at least it's not going to get in their hair this time. One crisis averted.

Holding up a marker, Daniel cries, "Miss Montez, can I sign your cast like I signed my brother's?"

I blink. An odd request, but why not? "Sure," I tell them.

All the miniature chairs clatter to the floor as they all rush up to me. "One at a time!" I yelp, trying not to whack my cast on anything. It takes a while but the kids have all finished signing their names. They're going through this 'cursive writing is so cool' phase, so there are a bunch of illegible squiggles all over the heavy object. It's still pretty touching, actually. I've never had anyone sign my cast before. Then again, I've never really broken anything before this either.

I leave the kids to make their art in peace, and settle myself behind my desk. I get a good twenty minutes of my own peace (a new record) before they get a bit restless and start wandering around.

"Miss Montez, are you sad?" Asks a timid voice that belongs to a boy whose pretty shy. He doesn't talk much in class, so I'm touch he's concerned about me.

"I'm fine, Bobby." I lie. He's four. What can he do to help?

"When I'm sad, my mommy always gives me two and a half cookies. You should try it!" He exclaims, as if his mother's cookies were so magical they could stop global warming. Er, no thanks kid. I've had enough ice cream a few nights ago to satisfy all my junk food cravings until you're in a retirement home.

"Um, okay. Thank you, Bobby."

He leaves and I'm face-to-face with a boy who I can barely recognize behind all the paint. Daniel Lienad holds up his work of art, grabs my hands and places the dripping wet paper in my open palms.

"It's for you, Miss Montez." He grins proudly. Oh Daniel, if only all boys were as sweet as you. Maybe you could start giving lessons to a certain Troy Bolton.

"Thank you. I'll hang it up on my wall as soon as it dries, okay?"

He nods in agreement. "Can I go to the bathroom, Miss Montez? I really have to go."

"Yes. Just take a buddy with you... And wash the paint off your face too."

"Okay!" He scampers out the room with one of his classmates trailing behind. Let's hope his aim has improved since last time.

I look at the picture again. It's really a wonderful piece. Daniel's painted a picture of me and him with matching yellow smiles. I especially love the fact that I'm the skinnier one—with really long legs.

I'm a bit concerned when he comes back ten minutes later; a normal kid shouldn't take that long, right? To my surprise, he bounds over to me instead of to his seat. Well, maybe not that surprised. Catherine's taken over his desk and he wouldn't be able to sit with his chair being covered in the pink art supplies she's probably stolen anyway. He hands me a crumpled sheet of paper. Except this time, it's not a gift. It's a note.

_Gabriella, meet me outside the school near the back entrance. It's an emergency. - Taylor_

"Where did you get this?"

"I don't know. Some old lady told me to give it to you." He shrugs then skips off before I can give him the 'don't talk to strangers' lecture.

Old? Taylor does get a bit stressed from work, but I didn't think her wrinkles were that noticeable. The handwriting is familiar,yet it looks too messy and non-feminine to be my housemate's. I get nervous for a second. What if it's some creepy dude luring me out to rape me? Wait. What would some old lady want to do with me? It probably is Taylor. She did say it was urgent. She might have hurt her writing hand and had to use her other one. Yes, that's it.

I announce to my class I'll be gone for a bit and politely ask the teacher next door to watch over them for a few minutes. Then I'm rushing outside as quickly as I can, with my cast throwing me a bit off balance. Taylor should be just around the corner...

Oh. _That's _how I recognized the hand-writing. I should've known from all the times I've fallen asleep in high school and he was there to take notes for me.

It's Troy.

---

**(Another) Author's Note: It's kind of shorter than the previous ones, but the final chapter and epilogue are coming up next. :)**


	4. Perfect Moments

**Author's Note:** I'm such a bad updater. I'm sorry! Exams are coming up and it's the first time I'm taking them and I'm freaking out and yeah...

Even with that said, I, er, do have a new story up...

**New Beginnings: **What's a single woman to do when she trips, literally, over her now homeless, former high school crush and basketball superstar? She decides to pluck him from the streets and help him rebuild his life. Troy&Gabriella.

So yeah, you might like to check it out?

_**---**_

**Last Chapter:**

_Daniel hands me a crumpled sheet of paper. It's a note._

Gabriella, meet me outside the school near the back entrance. It's an emergency. - Taylor

_"Where did you get this?"_

_"I don't know. Some old lady told me to give it to you." He shrugs then skips off before I can give him the 'don't talk to strangers' lecture._

_I announce to my class I'll be gone for a bit and politely ask the teacher next door to watch over them for a few minutes. Then I'm rushing outside as quickly as I can, with my cast throwing me a bit off balance. Taylor should be just around the corner..._

_Oh. _That's _how I recognized the hand-writing. I should've known from all the times I've fallen asleep in high school and he was there to take notes for me._

_It's Troy._

_---_

"T-troy? Why are you here?"

I haven't spoken to him since the hospital visit. I just assumed he'd understandably hold off all contact until he was in a secure relationship. It wasn't that my feelings no longer existed, but they were strong enough for me to do anything for him. Even respect his decision to ignore me completely.

Yet I couldn't help but feel a little hurt by it.

"I needed to talk to you. I'm sorry and I know you have your job to do, but hear me out, okay?"

"Why'd you pretend to be Taylor? I can't believe you had to lie to get me here."

"I know it was wrong, but I had already sent the note..."

My eyebrows crashed together. "How'd you get the note to me in the first place? Daniel said an elderly woman gave it to him."

"That was the secretary of your school. I told her I wanted to see you. She refused until she recognized me from the restaurant—she was eating dinner and saw the whole mess—she remembered how you were there too. She took pity on me. I was going to call, but you know. No cell phones in class." He kindly smiles.

Okay. Brownie points for Troy.

"So what's this all about? You'd better be quick. I have a very important lesson to teach my students. People have said learning about the different sounds farm animals make builds a sturdy foundation for a bright future."

"I knew I wasn't being fair to you. And I have something to confess..." he says, "Yes I could have waited, but I was scared I'd be too late. I mean, you said yourself that this school does have an abnormal number of single 'handsome' teachers—"

"Huh? You aren't making sense, Troy."

"All I wanted to say was I love you too, Gabriella."

"What? I'm not sure I heard you correctly. Say that again."

"I love you."

No matter how many times I had imagine this moment, the actual thing was so much better. And that meant a lot because my fantasies were often filled with trained, love-note-delivering doves or swans and Troy was often pictured wearing a drool-worthy tux.

"I—really?"

"And I want to do movie nights. I want to be immature, because, honestly, work is great but sometimes I miss being a kid and just having fun. Being with you on Fridays allows me to do that. I felt the need to tell you this now because...I had my lunch date with Tracy today and it went horrible. She was perfect. But I couldn't stop comparing her to you and noticing how much you guys differed. She doesn't scrunch up her nose and ask for my help to order when she can't pronounce the names of the items on the menu. She knows eleven different languages. She doesn't make me laugh so hard that my fifty-dollar gourmet meal wants to resurface. She's always poised and collected."

"Wait. She's perfect. And you just said that we were polar opposites."

"She might be perfect, but you're perfect for me, Gabriella."

My knees almost buckle. And I've been holding my breath for his whole speech. "Why are you telling me all this now?"

"You know when you have something all planned out in your head and you think it's going to go all perfectly just like you've imagined?" He starts.

Um, Troy. Were you or were you not there at the restaurant the night before my little tumble down the stairs.

"Yes..."

"Uh, well, my plans usually result in disaster areas. I was so scared of losing you if I messed up. Even more afraid than the time we watched 'Electric Chainsaw XIX'"

"You were scared during that?" I grin teasingly.

"You have no idea. I thought you'd cuddle up with me or something, but you couldn't take your eyes off the screen and ended up vomiting." He chuckles at the memory. "A perfect example of one of my plans failing."

I'm shocked. I only paid attention so he wouldn't think I was some wimpy girl who couldn't keep down her lunch down during a horror movie.

There's only one thing I can say to make everything better. "Troy...I lied back at the hospital. I don't want just a platonic relationship with you."

All of a sudden, he kisses me.

And in this perfect moment, all I can think of is how much I regret missing out on so many years of this.

Then he ruins it. "By the way, I took a look inside your classroom, and uh, you better not have contracted some contagious disease or something that induces baldness."

_**---**_

**Epilogue: A few months later.**

It's that time of year again. The time I used to dread back when I was still a student.

Report card time.

Being kindergartners, they don't have to worry much though. I just write a couple of comments on their strengths and weaknesses for everything we've learned this year. Just wait until they have to start worrying about keeping their GPA up. Oh how I'd love to see the look on their faces.

I peek into the drawer to make sure the envelopes are safe and sound as the kids happily eat their lunch. It's not technically time yet. There's still three hours to go before they're sent home with their report cards.

My eyes water slightly. There's only two more days left of the school year. Time's past by so quickly, and as much as I might try to deny it, I'm going to miss the little freaks.

Everyone of them.

Except Catherine.

I'm kidding. I'm kidding.

They've grown so much over a short period of time. Especially their hair.

Some have gotten four inches back already.

A squeaky voice startles me. "Miss Montez, we're all done our lunches!"

Surprised, I say, "You guys are done already?"

"Yeah. Can we go outside early today, Miss Montez?" Asks a kid with jam coating the entire bottom half of his face.

"Uh..." That isn't such a bad idea. An extra ten minutes of energy-burning wouldn't hurt.

Several of his classmates disagree. "No wait, tell us a story."

"You want to hear a story?" I'm not sure if I've heard them right. They're actually willing to be quiet for once?

"Yes! Tell us a story! Tell us a story!" They chant.

"What would you guys like? There's Beauty and the Beast and half of The Frog...Who Couldn't...Jump." I have no idea where all the books have gone as I hold up the almost-mangled-beyond-recognition copy of the frog book with a disapproving frown on my face.

Bobby whines, "We've already read those so many times!"

"Just make up a story like my daddy does at bedtime!" suggests Daniel.

"Okay..." I skeptically agree.

Keeping the kids entertained shouldn't be too hard, I think...

"...And then Ella saved her prince from Tracy the Troll—Oops. I mean, the evil coworker—and they lived happily ever after." My story comes to and end and I anticipate the reactions of my students.

"What kind of a story was that?" Asks a befuddled kindergartner.

"I don't get it!" Another one chirps.

I flounder, "Um. You see, class, Ella was kind of a modified version of Cinder_ella _except I made my story a bit more _modern_. She still lost her shoe and..." It was true. I did lose one of my expensive heels that night.

"Is Ella even a real person?"

"I might have based her off myself," I admit.

"You're not Cinderella!"

"You're not pretty like she is!" Catherine bluntly agrees. I really want to sock that kid right now, but I'd rather not get arrested.

"Didn't Cinderella get married at the end?" Squeaks a chubby-faced girl from the back row.

"Yes, she did. And Miss Montez isn't even married yet!" That's Catherine again, expert on all things princess.

God, my class is so cruel sometimes. I feel so unappreciated, but it's not like I don't know it's their parents that force the kids to give me gifts at the end of the year.

The bell rings, sweeping away any other rude comments the kids had in mind. Their only focus now is on how to get to the door first.

When the last student leaves, I notice today happens to be that day of the week where I have schoolyard-monitoring duties so I turn off the light and lock the door behind me. It doesn't take much work, really. All I have to do is make sure that everyone gets a turn on the swings and rescue any bawling four-year old who's too scared to go down the slide, getting stuck on the play structure. I have to pretend to eat the sand birthday cake occasionally to not hurt anyone's feelings too. The kindergartners are in a separate yard from the older students so at least I'm not getting elbowed in the stomach while trying to break up a fight between two grade fives.

I enter the yard and lean against the tall chain-link fence surrounding the play area so I can have a good view of all the kids.

"Hey beautiful," chirps a voice from behind me.

"Troy!" I exclaim, happy to see my boyfriend. "What are you doing here?"

He gives me a lop-sided smirk and shrugs. "Just felt like coming to see you."

"Don't you have work? Couldn't you wait? School ends in three hours you know."

"I'm on my lunch break. And I can't believe you're still counting down the moments until school ends. Didn't you have enough of that when you were a student?" Troy teases.

"I happen to love my job very much."

"More than me?"

"Of course not." Honestly, could he be more childish?

"Then come over here. I hate that there's a fence between us."

"Troy...I am on duty..." I ponder objecting. I don't want to be fired since I'll most likely be throwing myself at him after the barrier between us is gone.

"Please? I have something I couldn't wait to give you."

Oh it's probably something sweet like a peck on the lips or a hidden bouquet of flowers. No one will mind, not after they see his adorable, pleading face.

"Okay. I'm coming." I turn my head around to I can see if anyone's watching. The kids are occupied with playing and I'm the only teacher here so I hurry to the gate and join Troy on the other side. I really shouldn't be worried about getting into any trouble at all. I _can_ still see the children through the wide holes in the fence. After making sure the kids are still peacefully playing, I shift my attention back to Troy.

He's down on one knee, and it takes me longer than it should to realize that he's not about to tie his shoe anytime soon.

I can practically hear Catherine gasp, but the small box in his hands is all I'm thinking about.

"Gabriella Montez, I couldn't imagine the rest of my life with anyone else. Will you marry me?"

I'm not sure I believe what I've just heard. My heart races. This can't be happening. It's too good to be true. This is a dream sequence like the ones they have in movies and I'm about to scream 'Yes!' to an imaginary marriage proposal, when in reality I'm just going to freak out the kind person who has asked me if I know that I've stepped in dog crap.

But then again, Troy's always been impatient. This could be really happening.

"Oh Troy. I... Are you sure? I mean it's, uh, only been a few months...and I know I might have pressured to into this. I honestly didn't plan to forcefully shove you into all those jewelery stores on our trips to the mall and point out everything I liked...it just...happened."

Wasn't Romeo's rashness his character trait that led him and Juliet to their downfall?

Troy's grin twitches a bit. "I'll answer your question when you answer mine."

My eyes widen. In all my excitement, I've forgotten that I've left my fiancé-to-be hanging.

'Yes! Oh my gosh, Troy. I'm so sorry. Yes, of course I'll marry you!" I shriek. He stands up to slip the ring on my finger. Even though my vision is blurred, it's the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my life. "But you're absolutely sure? We haven't even been going out for that long..." I trail off, looking up from the dazzling ring to his hopeful eyes as he wraps his arms around me. All my foolish insecurity melts away.

"I'm completely positive. I love you, and I've loved you so much longer than a couple of months."

"I love you too, Troy Bolton. And..." Curiosity takes over my mouth. "How long have you loved me? Since when?"

He grins and his tone accuses me of asking such a stupid question. "Kindergarten."

---

**Author's Note: **Corniness galore! Oh well. I know any angsty story by me would just fall flat on it's face. Review please? I'd love to read feedback or to hear about your favourite parts/lines or something. :)


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